


horizon

by deniigiq



Series: electric sheep [8]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Androids, Artificial Intelligence, Gen, M/M, References to Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 06:59:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13969752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deniigiq/pseuds/deniigiq
Summary: “Listen,” he tried, desperate to sound human. Empathy was desperate to prove bots were human. “I need more time. The war won’t stop, not now, not ever. But it can be changed. People should fight people. It should be their decision. There’s a couple hundred of us; people like me. We don’t get a decision. They won’t let us revoke our commitment. I’ve tried. But the project--you believe we have choices, right?”Hogarth breathed slowly.“Yes, we do.”





	horizon

**Author's Note:**

> sorry this one is hasty. Trying to connect all the pieces over here. 
> 
> Some references to what Stick's torture and panic attacks. Please do what you need to to take care of yourselves, as usual.

The next night, Jess completely disregarded the number pad and broke the handle right off the dorm door. She muffled the clatter with her jacket, carefully deposited the remnants of the handle and lock along the bottom of the adjacent wall, and gently pushed the door. It swung slightly in. She stood up, pushed it all the way in, and gestured behind her for Karen to follow. Alarms blared in her head that this was The Worst Idea Ever, but she followed Jess into the room.

And woke up on a cushion.

There was a piercing ringing in her ears, so loud she could feel it in her eyes. She scrunched her eyes shut, but the movement didn’t alleviate the ringing or the dull ache she now realized was warming the side of her head. She levered herself up onto an elbow and reached up a hand to clutch at the hot pain. The back of her head, which the pain thankfully hadn’t engulfed, itched.

“Matt, no,” snapped a nearby voice.

Karen froze. Pounding headache forgotten, she slowly turned eyes as wide as saucers over her shoulder and then screamed, throwing herself into the corner of the sofa. Murdock. Furious. Looming. That pretty smirk pulled into a snarl, nostrils flared, skin drawn into deep folds around his eyes. The expression was directed at her upper cheek and images of Kevlar vests and Elektra’s thigh holsters flooded Karen’s mind. Murdock’s snarl was silent, and he didn’t respond to the person’s demand. Her heart pounded in her ears and her hot head.

Murdock flared his synthetic nostrils at her.

“Matt,” snapped the voice again, “I said stop _._ Get over here.”

A pause. Murdock didn’t move.

“ _Now, Matthew._ ”

Murdock snarled at her some more for good measure, then abruptly vaulted over her and the sofa. She pressed back into the cushions and gasped for a moment, hand clutching at her breast, before rocketing up to see over the back of the couch. Murdock stood just in the doorway to what appeared to be a tiny kitchen. As if sensing her gaze, he jerked his head in her direction and made the horrible face again. Her shoulders tensed.

A noise like a tap rang out and Murdock violently jerked his attention back into the tiny kitchen.

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” demanded the guy—the blonde guy from earlier—the voice on the phone--Karen realized. He sounded…Pleasant? But pretty annoyed? Murdock didn’t respond verbally, but he must have done something.

“Yeah no, you’ve already done a number on the lady. You leave her alone.” There was a shuffle. The blonde guy crowded Murdock into a far corner of the kitchen and walked out to the couch. Karen remembered him.

“Hi,” he told her, stiffly, “My name’s Foggy. You’re after my friend, you broke into my house, and he knocked you out. I’d say sorry, but this is kind of not a me-problem.”

Foggy looked more exasperated than he looked pissed, which Karen personally thought was not the correct response to this situation.

“Uh? Sorry?” She said, “Did you—my friend—?”

“Miss Jones.”

What. She tried not to stare bug-eyed but couldn’t help it. Foggy sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face.

“Matt, my friend, and Miss Jones, your friend, got into a bit of a--I want to say tussle, but really it was more like a cage-fight.”

The bot in the kitchen made a pleased, preening noise. Foggy glared at him.

“No, Matty. _Bad._ Ugh, ignore him, he’s a violent asshole.”

Karen looked around. The dents in the walls and the trashed coffee table and the broken wood and plaster scattered all over the floor made Foggy a truthful man. 

“Where’s Jess?” she asked softly. Still shocked that Foggy was so calm. Had he already called the police? Was he not scared because Murdock behind him was a death-machine?

“She is convincing me not to call the fucking cops by bringing me to her leader. Or, I guess, vice versa.” Foggy told her, with the patience of an 80-year-old grandpa. Karen swallowed and tried to sit up a little straighter. Her head panged.

“Listen—”

“No, you listen,” Foggy interrupted, “You stalked me, broke into my house, and if he wasn’t a fucking psychopath death-trap, you would have kidnapped my friend. I’m not in the mood to listen to you.”

He was forceful, but polite and Karen wasn’t sure whether he or the bot was more surreal. But she’d never left a loose tooth alone and she sure as hell wasn’t about to start now.

“Okay, I get that, but I’m not the only one doing stupid shit, here,” she said, “You—you’re the one who called me. You _lied_ to me to get his—“ she pointed to the kitchen”—transcripts. You know that’s illegal right? You can’t just—”

“You’re Karen Page,” Foggy said, eyes widening, “Holy shit, you’re Karen Page.”

“Yes, I know my own name.”

“You’re Advance--”

“Fuck Advancement, it’s a goddamn paycheck,” She snarled, suddenly furious, “I know they’re doing awful things, okay? I just fucking found out and now I’m trying to—I’m just trying to atone, alright? I found out like three days ago and—it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t give you the right to manipulate me; if someone—anyone else—found out about that and I wasn’t going along with this crazy insider shit, then I could have lost my job.”

“I—” Foggy had the decency to look shocked, then guilty, “Okay, wow. That answers a lot of questions. I guess, I’m sorry for that. I really am. I owe you like a thousand drinks or something, but still, I’m a reasonable guy, you didn’t have to break in, you could have just knocked.” Karen studied him and then realized that Murdock was creeping on them in the doorway of the kitchen. The burst of fear she felt must have shown on her face because Foggy cocked his head and then glanced over his shoulder for a moment before looking back at Karen. He had such an open face.

“He’s not going to hurt you, he’s just looking, er, listening? Sensing? Honestly, I have no idea what he’s doing, but I think he’s trying to feel you out.”

Without the snarl and without the glasses, Murdock was as pretty as a picture. She could imagine his previous law firm trying to put him in all their advertising. It hurt her heart. And she felt awkward sitting on the couch of a guy who she’d trespassed on and who was apparently footing the bill for Jess and Murdock’s damage. There was a long silence.

“I’m sorry that we broke into your place,” she said at last, “We—I just wanted to help. They’ve—they’re hurting him, aren’t they? That’s why he came back to you?” She didn’t gesture to Murdock, but Foggy understood.

He sighed.

“Can I get you something to drink? Some pills for the head?” She blinked and was hit with a wave of pain and nausea.

“Yeah, uh, please, that would be good.”

Foggy nodded and stepped back in the kitchen. Murdock flattened to the doorway to let him pass, then re-occupied it to face her. He kept tilting his head, a bit like a dog. He looked like a lost kid in his oversized t-shirt and athletic tights and sneakers. He looked nothing like Elektra, whose outfit made her feel as dangerous as her hips. Karen tilted her own head and tried to imagine him in the black vest and boots. Matt made a processing noise, a soft hum or buzz, which reminded Karen of the noise her laptop made when it overheated. She couldn’t tell where it came from.

“Ice,” she startled out of her reverie as Foggy nudged the ice pack against her shoulder, “Pills. Starting with two ibuprofen. Your friend said you don’t have a concussion, but I’m not convinced.” He placed a cup of water on the ground next to her, between the couch and the devastated coffee table.

“Concussion, negative.” Murdock’s voice informed them. Foggy narrowed his eyes at him.

“Pray tell, sir, what would you know?” he said. Matt made his noise and looked down at the ground. For a bot, he really seemed to have a good handle on sarcasm. And on expressions.

“How does he…?” Karen trailed off, not quite sure how to ask without being offensive. Foggy shrugged.

“Your guess is as good as mine. Sometimes he gets it; when it’s important, he doesn’t. Obviously. Because this is my life.”

Karen chuckled and then swallowed the pills. Even though he lied to them, she decided she liked Foggy. He plunked down heavily next to her on the couch and leaned his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He sighed for the millionth time that evening and Karen could practically see the weight pushing down on his shoulders.

She looked up and saw Murdock leave the room. She awkwardly held her cup of water against her thighs. What do you say to a guy who after all this? He had probably just fallen into it, just like she had. She’d opened her mouth to spout off some platitude when she heard Murdock return. He knelt down next to Foggy’s knee and gently nudged his thigh with his temple. Foggy looked at him and huffed. He reached out and pulled Murdock’s head against his thigh completely, ruffling his hair.

“I know, buddy. I’m not mad, I’m just tired. And sad. That terrible shit keeps happening to you. That terrible shit keeps happening to all of us. It’s like there’s no way to stop it.”

Murdock processed then sat up on his knees and shoved a weird-shaped pillow with a guitar printed onto it into the space behind Foggy’s elbow. He really had to work at it, since the pillow was fluffy and awkward. Once he’d gotten it more or less crammed into Foggy’s lap and armpit, he made his noise and then leaned his head back up against Foggy’s knee. The whole production made Foggy laugh, then laugh hard. He scrubbed Murdock’s hair.

Then he quietly leaned forward, covered his face and sniffed. Karen’s heart clenched. She touched his shoulder.

“Hey, it’ll be okay. You’re gonna be okay. Jess and Hogarth can help. They’re scary, but I think they mean well.” she murmured. Foggy sniffed again in his hand, the other one clutching at the pillow in his lap.

“Fuck,” he hissed and brought both hands to his face. Murdock shifted even closer, looking for all the world prepared to crawl right into his lap.

“I just—fuck. I just want him to be safe,” he choked out. Karen heart ached, but she didn’t know what to say to that. She didn’t have a point of reference. She didn’t know if what Jess and Hogarth had in mind considered Murdock’s safety. So she stayed quiet, looking at Murdock. Trying to figure out how this sticky sweet android was the same one who damn near beat her head in. Trying to imagine him as a soldier.

“I don’t know you guys,” she said, “But, Foggy. I think he wants you safe, too.”

Foggy took a deep breath in. Murdock stared in Karen’s direction, then tipped his head up towards Foggy. He reached out, put a hand on each side of Foggy’s face and tugged. Foggy snorted.

“Alright, geez. Bossy.” He scrubbed at his face and looked Murdock in the eyes, despite the lack of reciprocation. Murdock processed and tugged Foggy again.

“Confirm,” he said. Karen’s heart jolted. “Foggy. Processing capacity 100%.” Foggy frowned. He glanced at Karen and then back. Murdock tugged.

“Okay, alright, geez. Confirm, you sap. Confirm,” he gave a watery smile, then furrowed his brow and rubbed the space between his eyes.

“What do you mean 100%, buddy? You’re at like 70-something, we just checked.” Murdock said nothing, didn’t process, simply waited. Foggy’s eyes widened.

“Oh. You want the extra processors?”

“Confirm.”

“But what about Karen—”

“Invalid question. Please resubmit request.”

“Did you seriously--? You asshole. What, now you trust her? Just like that?”

“Confirm. Just like that.”

 

 

Karen was flattered that Murdock trusted her, but Foggy evidently wasn’t completely sold. He poked and prodded, asking her a series of rapid fire questions ranging from her favorite candy (sour patch kids) to her family (she was an only child) to her last four jobs (waitress, assistant editor, secretary, administrative assistant). Then she learned that he was a law student and, yes, he _had_ just fallen into this like she had.

He seemed satisfied with her enough after the interrogation that he fed her cold Chinese food and watched Law and Order: Special Victims Unit with her until Jess came back a few hours later. Murdock—or Matt as Foggy said she should call him—kept stealing the remote and listening to it as he pressed buttons until Foggy confiscated it and shoved the guitar pillow into his arms.

Evidently unfazed by having his remote-privileges revoked, Matt proceeded to try to stuff the pillow into Karen’s lap, which Foggy informed her was his way of expressing trust and affection.

“Keep this up and he’ll be bringing you half-dead guys, next,” he told her reassuringly.

Karen’s good rapport with Foggy did not extend to Jess. Jess did not trust Foggy and Foggy did not trust Jess. Not before and still not after she offered to pay for the damages. (“This is not a question of if,” he stated, “You _will_ pay for damages.”)

Foggy also stared at Hogarth with the kind of contempt usually reserved for late public transit. He called bullshit on everything she said until the woman brought out her licenses, degrees, and business cards, which Foggy took with a glare and googled right in front of her.

Karen _loved_ Foggy.

“How the fuck do I know you’re not just Advancement fronting as,” he read off of Hogarth’s card, “the Empathy Project? What is this Asimov shit--are you serious? You could not have picked a more cliched name, Christ. Anyways, for that matter, how do I know you’re not HYDRA? You could be the sworn enemy of Captain America, and I took a vow in like third grade to always protect Captain America.”

Hogarth gritted her teeth, but Karen couldn’t help but notice that she hadn’t snapped at him like she did with Jess.

“I am not Advancement. Nor am I HYDRA. Jess wouldn’t work for HYDRA—”

“I would legit rather die,” Jess offered.

“—the only reason I am at Advancement at present is because my organization strongly suspects that they are running an elaborate, incredibly violent android-trafficking scheme which—”

“Yeah, lady. Here’s the thing, this is not the first android-trafficking scheme-whatever I’ve come across,” Foggy snapped, pushing the pile of Hogarth’s documents towards her in the kitchen. Hogarth was visibly shocked.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“That guy,” Foggy thumbed behind him at Matt, who evidently read Hogarth as ‘threat’ and was expressing this by snarling while perched on the back of the sofa. “Disappeared for like two weeks and brought me home a half-dead guy with a broken jaw. The police said he was suspected of the same thing you’re going on about.”

Hogarth stared wide-eyed down at the counter for a long moment. She took several deep, calming breaths that got an eyebrow raise out of Foggy.

“Did you happen to get their name?” she finally got out. Foggy cocked his head and frowned, thinking.

“Matt,” he asked, “What’s the name of the guy you brought home the other day?” Matt paused in his glaring to process the question.

“Invalid question, please resubmit request.”

“Not this again, see Karen? Only when it’s important. Matty, confirm: four days ago you delivered a person to my dorm.”

“Confirm.”

“Great, what was that person’s name?”

“Data insufficient.”

“Perfect. Okay, let’s try it another way. Matty, why did you bring a person to my dorm?” Hogarth frowned.

“If he doesn’t know the person’s name, he’s just going to invalidate the question. There’s no way of getting around that.”

“Orders.” Matt stated. Foggy evaluated.

“What were the orders, Matty?”

“Orders: Bring CO to handler.” All of them had to pause and evaluate that. Foggy leaned forward.

“Matt, come here,” he slid off the back of the sofa and felt along the doorway into the kitchen. He stopped in front of Foggy. “What does CO stand for?”

“Abbreviation: Commanding Officer,” Matt said. Foggy blinked.

“Commanding Officer?”

“Confirm.”

“Okay,” Foggy thought, rubbing fingers across his forehead, “What was he the Commanding Officer of?”

“11. 6 android, 5 human.” Hogarth paled and flipped one of her documents over, digging a pen out of her bag. She started scribbling things down. Foggy watched this suspiciously, but carried on.

“Those were the 11 people who were killed on the roof top?” he asked uncertainly. Karen’s heartrate leapt again. She’d heard about that. Matt was part of the group that did it? That meant that the whole ‘paintball’ team was responsible.  Matt processed.

“Orders: locate and exterminate. Orders: bring CO back to handler. Mission, complete.” Foggy sighed. Hogarth wrote. Jess folded her arms across her chest.

“Yeah, pal. Mission complete. But why did you bring him to me? I’m not—oh shit, no Matty. I’m not your handler.”

Matt flinched back at this. Then jerked. Then his face did something Karen had never seen a bot’s face do before. Jess and Hogarth even looked alarmed.

“What—What—What—“ he stammered, stuck in a loop. Foggy froze. Then he startled back into action, reaching out and hovering his hands just below Matt’s shoulders.

“No, no, no. Matt. Matty, I need you to calm down,” he started soothing. “It’s okay, you didn’t do anything wrong. You’re okay.”

“N-n-not? Not--?”

“It’s okay, buddy. You’re okay. You need to calm down or you’re going to shut down, remember?”

“Re-Remem—but not? Not? How--?” Matt’s chest started to expand and Karen suddenly realized that he was breathing. Had he been breathing before? His chest rose and dropped irregularly and she felt it spark something in her.

“Foggy,” she asked, “what’s going on?”

“He’s about to have a fucking panic attack,” Foggy snapped back.

“That’s not possible,” Hogarth breathed, but she didn’t sound like she believed it. Foggy glared at her.

“Not for an android,” he growled. “Matt, let’s sit, how about we sit?” He gripped Matt’s shoulders; Matt flinched back, Foggy dropped his hands and held them out in front of him. “It’s okay, it’s just me. It’s just Foggy. Karen? Can you give me that pillow?” She dove for it and brought it back as Foggy coaxed Matt onto the kitchen floor.

“If he turns off now, he won’t remember,” Foggy told them from the floor where Matt’s breathing— _breathing,_ Jesus Christ--was starting to slow ever so slightly, “I need to calm him down until we can get him hooked up to more processing power. Can someone please get me my phone and my guitar? They’re in my room.”

Jess vanished. Foggy pushed the pillow into Matt’s arms and closed them around it. Matt stared into his lap murmuring, “Not? Not?? Not? How? Must b—not?”

Jess reappeared and presented Foggy with the guitar, which he took gratefully. He set it in his lap and reached out into the small space between him and Matt to wrap fingers around his wrist. He drew it forward until Matt’s fingers just scraped the strings. Matt went silent. He touched the strings, pressed his fingers against them as if ascertaining that they were real. Then he moved his hand and just barely touched the tips of two fingers to Foggy’s.

“Don’t make any noise,” Foggy told the others in the kitchen. He strummed a single chord. Matt went still, he took a breath in and froze. Foggy didn’t follow the chord for long enough that Karen thought he have only intended to play one.

Matt unfroze enough to touch Foggy’s hand again. He strummed another chord.

A few minutes passed like this. Touch. Note. Echo. Touch. Note. Echo.

Meditation.

Karen’s heart slowed too.

Foggy eventually broke the calm.

“Matt? Functioning capacity?” Matt processed.

“Functioning capacity: 78%” he replied. They all breathed a sigh they hadn’t known they’d been holding.

“Well, shit,” Jess moaned, leaned back against the counter, “So that’s all awful.”

Hogarth joined her and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. Karen knelt down next to Foggy and Matt quietly. She settled down and looked at the ground. Suddenly it made sense why Foggy talked to Matt as though he were human: accusingly, sarcastically, affectionately. He was human; it was just underneath the surface.

“If you think that’s bad, you ain’t seen nothing yet,” Foggy sighed and reached for his phone.

 

 

Ernst lost his goddamn mind when Foggy brought his new group of interlopers into the lab. Karen recognized his as the voice on the phone which had dropped all his equipment. Watching him fuss over Matt tripped a little suspicion in her head that he’d done it on purpose.

Foggy introduced them all to each other and George took Hogarth’s cards and disappeared for a few minutes, doubtless to do exactly what Foggy had before providing information.

“Why does this always happen to us?” Ernst moaned, opening the ports in Matt’s head, “I mean, we were doing _so well._ The police analysis is tomorrow.” Hogarth stiffened.

“I’m sorry, what?” George gave her a cool look.

“Because some of us actually work within the legal system, we gave consent for Matt to undergo a bot analysis at the police lab tomorrow. Which they are expecting. Which they will notice if it does not happen.”

Hogarth swore.

“What? Is that bad?” Foggy asked, letting Matt hold his hand as Ernst plugged in cables.

“Very,” Hogarth gritted out, “If there’s a single dirty cop in that lab, the whole thing could be in jeopardy. They could tell Advancement and they’d know exactly where your friend is.”

Ernst raised a hand and initiated a group huddle away from the interlopers.

“Shit got real,” George hissed, “This is way above our heads. But we can’t ethically endanger Matt.”

The others nodded.

“Not to mention,” Ernst pointed out, “I’m 90% sure that these people already know where Matt is. It’s been crazy, someone very smart has been working very hard to hack into Matt’s system over the last few days.”

 Foggy sucked in a breath through his teeth.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“So what do we do? We have to give him to the police, they’ll arrest us for aiding and abetting or something if we don’t and then no one can help him,” Maiko whispered.

“Hold on, hold on, let’s think,” Foggy told them.

They thought.

“Okay, wait,” George murmured, “You said he almost shut down, just now, right?” Foggy nodded. “Why?”

“I think he fucked up. He had an order to bring the jaw-guy to his handler, but he brought him to me. I told him I wasn’t his handler and he freaked.”

 “Okay, so he failed the order, maybe failed the mission. He said before that he had a tendency to do that,” George turned towards Ernst “And you said that someone’s trying to track him, right?”

“I mean, at this point, ‘trying’ is optimistic.”

“That’s probably his handler, then,” George said, “Or at least the guy who maintains him on Advancement’s side. Okay, okay, okay, here’s what’s gonna happen. If we hook him up now and grill him, he’s eventually going to shut down and the short-term memories android-Matt and human-Matt share are probably going to be lost. We don’t know if android-Matt stores orders, but we know that human-Matt doesn’t. Ernst, we need to look into that before we put him on the processors. Make a note, please. If he does store orders, we need a copy of them before whoever the fuck hacks his system and erases them. We need to be able to document this shit.”

“Got it.”

“The next thing we’ve got to consider is that Human-Matt might have long-term memories from before he was a bot, like he did last time. Whatever the police or the project are looking for is probably going to be in those; like names and organizations and recruitment, that shit. Droid-Matt can’t give us that, so if we can’t find orders, then I think that the next priority is going to be getting a record of those memories.”

They all nodded. George scrubbed at her hair in frustration.

“Okay, here’s the hard part, ya’ll. If kiddo is going to shut down, then we’ve got to decide whether he does that with the Empathy Project or the police. Obviously, the Empathy Project is here, and they seriously care about droids, but I don’t know if they’re gonna have the clout to stop this more than the police. On the other hand, we don’t know if the police care about anything past stopping the trafficking, and we’ve got existing victims. So we’ve got to think ya’ll. Do we make this happen now or wait until morning with the police?”

No one said anything for a long time.

“Matt is ready to talk, now,” Foggy said, “He asked me earlier to be hooked up. He wants to tell me something. And if we can help the existing droids, then they can provide more evidence and backing police action. If we get Matt’s long-term memories on record, too, then we can share them between both parties if we need to.”

Silence.

“Also, the police are pigs, and the project has multiple ins to Advancement itself,” Maiko added.

“Fuck, okay, alright. All in favor?” George asked. “On the count of three. One, two--”

A unanimous decision.

 

 

Matt woke up. And it was. It was. Not cold? His arms didn’t tingle like he’d slept on them, he felt awake.

This was new.

And possibly terrible.

He lifted his head and pushed out his senses. It was quiet in the room at first, but then a note twanged through the air. Its vibrations lit up the space, rippled against walls, outlined a desk with two monitors, a table behind him with a series of processors stacked beneath it, a person in front of him holding a wooden object.

An instrument.

It was making the sound.

He reached out a hand and it fell on something soft. Another note twanged through the air and lit up the room again. There was a soft, plush thing in his arms. It was a pillow, it was shaped like a lopsided oval.

The note faded. He reached out again, unthinking. He touched a hand. It played a chord this time. The echo was mournful.

It reminded him of something.

“Matt?” the person in front of him said.

A name? Wait, that one was his. No, there was a different name.

“Hey buddy, are you awake?”

It was this person. This person was the one who belonged to the name in his mind. How did they get in his mind? What was the name?

“Matt, buddy, can you focus on me for a minute?”

Foggy.

“Foggy,” he breathed.

Foggy’s heart stuttered. Yes, that was the right name.

“Foggy,” he continued softly, “Do I know you?” Foggy breathed in to answer but Matt cut him off, “No, I know you. You’re? Who are you?” Foggy breathed out.

“I’m your friend,” Foggy told him. His voice echoed. It was familiar. There was

“A bag,” he told Foggy, “There was a bag. It was on chains. And it was night. And there was music.”

Foggy’s heart stuttered again. He strummed a chord. There was a more distant voice off to their right. It whispered, _How is he doing this?_ Another voice answered, _We don’t know. But he remembers more and faster each time._

“I remember,” Matt said, sitting up, “It was a punching bag. You, Foggy, you took me to the gym. You played—you play—music. For me.” Foggy didn’t say anything, but his breathing hitched and he swallowed and Matt realized he was trying not to cry.

“Matt—"

“Hey, hey don’t be upset. It’s okay, Foggy. I’m not going to hurt you. I just—sorry I’m trying to remember. It’s really important that I remember. There’s someone--” Matt stopped. It was just out of reach, the outlines lit up and faded. He tipped his head and reached out in front of him, he stroked the pillow.

“Let me try one more time. I can do this.” It’s important. Foggy breathed out.

“Matt, let me help—"

“There was a gym and there was music and you—” the pieces fell together, “--bought me this stupid pillow. Wanted to help me for Truth. Justice. And the American way.”

He had to think. There was more. Foggy still said nothing. He was waiting, shaking a little bit, but waiting, Matt realized. He was giving him time and space to remember; he couldn’t remember the last time someone gave him the courtesy. Foggy strummed a chord. It was beautiful, it lit up the room. It was a courtesy. To help him remember. No one had done that, especially not—

Fuck. There it was.

“Stick.” He said, gripping the pillow. Foggy inhaled softly.

“I don’t know who that is,” Foggy told him gently, “Can you tell me more about him?”

 Matt grit his teeth. He fucking remembered. Hid it away during one of the awakenings. Did it again, then again and again, impulsive. It made sense now. Flashes of pain. Screaming. Trying to revoke. Elektra.

That bastard. That piece of shit. That—

“He took me back, didn’t he?” he grit out, “Him and those _motherfuckers_. They called me back. Because their war isn’t done. Didn’t make it out of Intervention a- _fucking_ -live but they call me back in now? Why.”

“I don’t know,” Foggy told him. His voice was shaking; he was upset. He set down the guitar. Hollow wood hitting linoleum. “Matt, something terrible is happening. To you and others. Maybe kids. We need to know more, we need information we think you have. Last time you told me to find—”

“Elektra.” Matt twisted a hand in the pillow, so he didn’t punch the floor. The word brought a brief flood, a tiny tsunami of Kevlar and blades. Of a blade going through a heart, a head, his arm.

“Yeah. Well, we didn’t find Elektra, but we found Advancement.” Matt jerked up, he sought out Foggy with his face.

There it was again. There was an ache; a squirming in his mind. Something was wrong, something was bad, Foggy was in danger.

“What do you mean, you found Advancement?” He asked. A hand touched his jaw and he flinched. The hand went away and he craved it.

It clicked. The screaming.

“Foggy, no. Oh God, no. I remember. No, no, _please_ no. I called for you. Fuck. Did you come? Please say you didn’t come, please say this is in my head,” he begged.

Foggy’s heart was excited and his face was hot. He was--he was crying. Matt was fucking this up, even in his head. The devil stirred, frustrated.

“Please, please tell me you didn’t come,” he asked again. Foggy swallowed.

“Matty, this isn’t in your head. I didn’t come to you, you came to me,” he said softly.

It rang like a bell. Sent vibrations through his body. Memories shivered down with them. Of Stick, of screaming. Of Stick. Then screaming. Of holding a man over a ledge, telling him “I will not ask again.” Of a staircase, of a twang—the sound of metal on metal—and then a fight. A fight with Elektra; he fought Elektra. He didn’t win, he damaged the others, but not Elektra. Not enough to hurt anyways, just enough to get away. He took the man from the ledge.

“How long have I been here,” he asked. Foggy swallowed hard.

“Awake or?”

“How long has it been since the man on the roof?” Foggy reeled back.

“You can remember the orders?”

“Bring CO back to handler. Back to Stick. Bring that screaming piece of shit back to Stick. Well I brought him alright, I brought him—” wait no. He took the man from the ledge to--to Foggy. Oh, for the love of—

“How long has it been. Tell me. Now.” Not a request.

“It’s been almost a week.”

His lungs hitched and stung. He heard pounding in his head. White noise crackling softly in his ears.

“Matt. Matty, you need to calm down,” Foggy told him, like fresh water over smooth river stones. “I’m going to be straight with you, if you freak out and shut down, this will all have been for nothing. And you told me earlier you wanted to talk, so here we are talking. Talk to me. What did you want to tell me?”

What was he talking about? Earlier, find earlier. He couldn’t—

“I can’t remember. Help me,” he asked softly, hoping Foggy would understand. He was right, he’d shut down, and he’d wake up to Stick again and again. Foggy huffed out a big breath; Matt couldn’t smell him, but he was warm and solid. His hands were chilled, but that was from the room. He was a pleasant sound all over.

Foggy reached up to rub at his eyes.

“Uh okay. Jess and Karen broke into my house. You, uh, beat the shit out of everyone. Jess went out to get Hogarth. You kept trying to scare Karen, but she was asleep. She woke up, we talked. You said you trusted her. I got upset. She said something about keeping me safe—”

It clicked like a brand new lock.

He didn’t want to do this anymore.

He could end it.

He could keep people safe.

The devil roiled in glee.

He caught Foggy’s shoulders.

“Are you recording this? Tell me you’re recording this.” Foggy was silent in shock for a second, then nodded. Hesitated.

“Sorry, I just—”

“Nodded. That’s fine. Who else is here? Who are these people?” He didn’t have time. He needed to make more time. Think, Murdock. How do you make more time?

“People from this lab, you know them. George, Ernst, Maiko.”

“There’s six; who are the others?”

“People from an NGO—the Empathy Project—how could you tell--?”

Empathy. The whispers in recruitment echoed around the clinking of plates, the rustles of sheets: what is Empathy? They are the enemy. But I thought that that was—? There are many enemies.

“Oh Jesus, thank god.” Foggy startled again. “They’re recording this?”

“Yeah, they’re here, too.” Matt’s heart wanted to be full of relief, but there was no room.

“Let me speak to them. I need to say something, but swear to me you won’t touch it. Give it to Empathy.”

“Matt, what are you--?”

“Swear to me,” he said. He pressed fingers into Foggy’s shoulders, “Please. _Please._ You are my stable point. You exist in both minds.”

Foggy’s heart was beating too fast and he was emitting nervous heat, blushing, but not in a good way. Flushing? His shoulders rose and fell.

“I can’t promise that.”

Matt dropped his head. The devil snarled. Foggy needed to listen. He didn’t understand.

“Please, Foggy.” He was gripping Foggy’s shoulders too tight, he might leave bruises, but he needed that promise and the devil was roiling.

“I can’t promise that, Matt.” No time. Take what you can get, Murdock.

“Fine. I’ll just—it’s fine. Bring them in, can you bring them in?” Foggy pulled his hands from his shoulders. He jogged over to the voices. A clatter of shoes followed him back to Matt. He stood up, shook out his shoulders. There were two women in front of him.

“My name is Jeri Hogarth,” said a clipped voice, “I work for the Empathy Project. We’ve had our eye on you for a while, Mr. Murdock. We want to help you and the others in Advancement.”

Matt tried to find her face.

“We’re taught from recruitment that you are the enemy. They say you are interlopers.”

“When is recruitment?”

“Irrelevant. Horizon,” Matt snapped, “Their name is Horizon, they do the same as Advancement. The CO was theirs. There’s not many left, the war is almost over, but that’s why he called me back—Stick. That’s my handler. They need one last push. They got money, I don’t know from where. Stick had money and time to fix me. That’s what he said. Someone is funding this, I don’t know who it is, but I can find out.”

“Mr. Murdock, we need to know more about the system—”

“The system is over,” he barked, trying to get her to focus.

Hogarth was quiet, the person next to her was stiff, ready to get between him and her.

“Listen,” he tried, desperate to sound human. Empathy was desperate to prove bots were human. “I need more time. The war won’t stop, not now, not ever. But it can be changed. People should fight people. It should be their decision. There’s a couple hundred of us; people like me. We don’t get a decision. They won’t let us revoke our commitment. I’ve tried. But the project--you believe we have choices, right?”

Hogarth breathed slowly.

“Yes, we do.”

“Then help me make this choice, Miss Hogarth. I don’t have much time, and I’m a shit bot, but you don’t have anyone else and I want out. I think the others do too, the ones like me.”

Hogarth considered this. In any other situation, Matt would have respected the appreciation, but he didn’t have fucking time. The stress was taxing his system. He had maybe five minutes if he couldn’t calm down.

“We don’t have time. Are you going to help me or not?”

“Yes, I’ll help you. What do you need? What’s wrong with the time?”

“Thank you,” he breathed. Systems relaxing. Ten minutes at this capacity. Better, but not quite enough to make things happen.

“There’s no time because he’s found me,” Matt told her, seriously, “But that’s okay. That’s what we need. I need to go back, but before I do that, I need some manual adjustment.”

 

                                                                       

 

**Author's Note:**

> fyi, having worked in admin in the US (university level and some lower levels), if you give out people's information without their (or their guardians') consent, you are in fact violating federal law. You can lose your job and your institution can be sued. Have a bit of sympathy for your admin and registrars, friends.


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